


Irresistible

by seki



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-08
Updated: 2017-01-08
Packaged: 2018-09-15 19:26:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9252431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seki/pseuds/seki
Summary: You can't turn the clock back, nor can you stop it ticking onwards. But they can borrow a night back, now and then, or so Noctis seems to believe.An intimate interlude, in Lestallum.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Noctis is engaged, so a warning here: infidelity to that betrothal.

Lestallum is unpleasantly hot. Dry heat is one thing, Ignis thinks. This sweaty, humid heat serves only to make everyone uncomfortable. Noctis sheds his jacket, as does Prompto, and Gladio swaps his shirt for a vest. Ignis folds his jacket carefully before stowing it in the Regalia's trunk, and folds up his sleeves, and that suffices.

The evening is balmy, the air heavy with the mingled scents of gasoline and night-blooming jasmine. The Leville is, mercifully, equipped with fans that stir the air enough to give a semblance of a breeze. And they have magazines to loan their guests. Nothing from the Crown City, naturally, but there's a press here in Lestallum too. Ignis borrows a few from the foyer, and retreats to the coolest corner of the room he's sharing with Gladio.

Gladio himself is absent, gone to find a bar with cold beer and large women. Prompto and Noctis are in their room, as far as Ignis is aware. If they need him, they know where he is.

He'll be left to himself, for a while.

Women's magazines are made to look trivial, to the male eye. Their lurid covers promise gossip, fashion, nonsense. And yet, Ignis always finds some titbit to note down for later. Recipes. Cleaning tips. Advice. He's long since learned to scorn the raised eyebrows he gets for buying them.

In Lestallum, he realises swiftly, men's magazines are the ones designed that way. The women's magazines are filled with barechested men and tips on how to get a promotion. The first magazine 'for men' Ignis picks up begins with some diagrams on lacing boots in different ways to combat certain problems. Noctis has always been a little flat-footed. Ignis notes the corresponding pattern down, along with a recipe on the page afterwards for a cake that doesn't need eggs. Marvellous.

He's deep in the middle of the story -- a frivolous, absurdly idealised romance between a food stall worker and the beautiful woman who buys from his stall every day -- when Noctis knocks exactly once on the door before letting himself in.

Ignis glances over. "You know, knocking serves little purpose if you don't wait for permission."

"Yeah, yeah."

Ignis hears the lock click, and looks over again, frowning. "Something wrong?"

"Maybe." Noctis comes closer, and sits on the bed nearest Ignis. "You, um. Busy?"

"Nothing that can't wait." Ignis sets the magazine down.

Noctis squints at the cover. "Men's Monthly?"

"A little local flavour."

"Oh." Noctis nods -- clearly not really interested -- and then his gaze drifts to stare out of the window. "So, uh. Prompto and I were talking. About girls. And then he, uh, kissed me."

Well. Not entirely unexpected, but distinctly unwelcome. "Did he?"

" _Apparently_ ," Noctis says, "it was a joke, and then he went haring off out of the room before I could say anything else."

"And how do you feel about it?"

Noctis raises an eyebrow at Ignis. "You mean, did I tell him, sorry dude, but I'm engaged, and oh, also in this weird not-a-thing-at-all thing with Specs?"

"Noct."

"No, I didn't." Noctis flops backwards onto the bed. " _Are_ we still a thing?"

Ignis turns his head, can't look at Noctis as he answers. "You are _engaged_ , your highness."

"Didn't stop you back in Galdin Quay. Or Longwythe."

Regrettable lapses, if Ignis could bring himself to regret either. "Noct--"

"And now you won't share a room with me anymore." Noctis sighs, sounding more like a sulky teenager than he has for most of this entire journey. "Did I do something wrong?"

Nothing that Ignis isn't as wrong for doing. Nothing that Ignis can truly say he minds. Ignis puts the magazine aside, and then he stands up. The curtains are open, and the windows; he pulls both closed, allowing himself to glance over at Noctis's reaction as he nears the end of his task.

Noctis sits up, and then starts unlacing his boots. "You jealous?" he asks, quietly. "Of Prompto?"

"Envious, and: yes. Bitterly." Ignis checks the door; firmly locked. Good.

Noctis kicks his boots off, and waits.

Kissing Noctis always feels a little like falling, to Ignis. Or drowning. Once started, it's out of his control to bring it to a stop. 

There are limits, even so. Kissing is as far as Ignis can allow, however clear it is that this restriction seems both arbitrary and frustrating to Noctis. Noctis is not _his_. Kissing is already too far. And so, while shirts may be removed, trousers must stay firmly on, and if their inevitable grinding becomes a little too stimulating, Ignis is the one who has to disengage.

But shirts can go. Ignis lets his hands skim up Noctis's sides, lifting the t-shirt, until Noctis has to pull away from the kiss to let Ignis remove it completely. And Noctis unbuttons Ignis, fingers clumsy with impatience, and throws his shirt aside. Only then does he reach for Ignis's glasses, pulls them off and -- with due care -- stretches to the side to place them on the table.

Ignis shifts his mouth as Noctis stretches out, slides it backwards and downwards to nip at Noctis's neck. That's always rewarding; makes Noctis sigh and tip his head back. In cooler climes, Ignis once left lovemarks, low on Noctis's neck, where the jacket would cover. Not tonight. He moves his mouth down, first to Noctis's collarbone, then down further, to Noctis's chest.

Noctis likes attention on his nipples, to Ignis's amusement. Noctis can tolerate an inordinate amount of kissing and sucking and biting there, moaning, grinding his hips mindlessly upwards with his hands tangled into Ignis's hair. It's a pleasure Ignis always delights in providing, testing as he goes. A flick of the tongue makes Noctis groan like this, and a scrape of teeth makes him groan like _that_. Ignis could map these reactions forever.

The sun descends slowly, turning the curtains golden and then pinkish-golden, and Noctis finally tugs at Ignis's hair. "Stop, stop."

Ignis looks up. His eyesight is only slightly compromised without his glasses, so he is more than able to see Noctis's eyes gone narrow and dark with passion and Noctis's lips swollen from where Noctis bites them in response to biting elsewhere. "Enough?"

"Never," Noctis says, and tugs upwards, until they're kissing again. Noctis's hands slide down, cupping and pulling Ignis close enough that their erections bump. "Ignis. Please. Let me touch you. _Please_."

"Noct--"

"You don't have to do it back," Noctis says, and he grinds upwards, and it's a miracle there's any thought left in Ignis's head. "But I'm going mad here. I gotta touch you. I think about it all the time."

He slides his hand around, to the front, and down, and Ignis grabs for it quickly. No. That's a slope even slippier than the one they're on.

Noctis pulls his hand away, and then squirms out from under Ignis. "Fine."

"We're already too--"

"I know." Noctis hesitates, and then he reaches for his own fly. "Will you at least watch me?"

Last time Noctis asked this, in Longwythe, Ignis refused. This time, with jealousy spurring him, possessiveness urging him to assent-- "yes. But from a distance."

Ignis gets up, and retreats to his chair, which is merely a meter or so away. Distance, and yet, not so very much distance after all. His erection is _aching_ , and makes it impossible for him to cross his legs primly, but he sits as demurely as possible. Knees together. Hands on the chair's rests.

Noctis stares at him, startled by his compliance, and then shakes his head quickly, collecting himself. He unbuttons himself, too fast to be making a show of it, then skins out of his trousers and underwear. He settles himself nude on the bed, kneeling, bum between his feet. His hand goes to his own cock, and his other rests on the bed behind him as Noctis arches his back.

It's a display, and Ignis allows himself to look. Noctis's thighs are slender -- boyish, perhaps unsurprisingly -- and have only a grudging amount of hair on them. The muscles on the inside of his thighs shift as Noctis does, lines that pull Ignis's attention upwards. Balls resting on the bed, swollen into tautness. Dark hair, straight rather than curled. 

Noctis's hand, slack, on an erection that puts to the lie Gladio's jokes about puniness.

"Like what you see?"

"Very much."

Noctis moves his hand, slow, lazy strokes. "How about you show me, in return?"

"Now, that would be too far," Ignis says, his hands gripping the arms of the chair now. "Don't push, Noct."

That earns him a pout, but then Noctis tosses his head back, and spreads his knees a little further apart, and strokes at himself in a few more languid movements. There's wetness at the tip of his cock, and Ignis's eye keeps being drawn back to it, until Noctis lets his hand slide up and smear the wetness down, down along the length of himself.

"God," Noctis says, a purr in his voice. "I think of you, when I do this."

And from now on, there's not a chance Ignis won't think of _this_ when he tends to his own needs.

"I wish," Noctis continues, "I wish back in--ah--in Insomnia, that we'd--"

No. Ignis doesn't want to think about that. " _Noct_." 

"But if I'd been less--mmmm--scared, then we could have--"

" _Noct_." It's true. Back in Insomnia, it was Noctis who throttled their involvement to kisses and cautious caresses. Ignis hadn't pushed. Noctis's pace wasn't unreasonable. "Shush."

Noctis's hand, speeding up, his breathing dropping into irregular gasps. "And you wouldn't have said no."

He's correct. But then, Ignis hadn't had to cede Noctis to a future wife yet. What they had wasn't permitted, precisely, but neither was it forbidden. There would have been consequences to being discovered, but it wouldn't have triggered a diplomatic incident. Now, however, what they do is almost treason.

Ignis reaches for his glasses; an afterthought, at this point, but it makes him feel more in control to wear them. "But I might have missed this," he says, putting them on, and smiles. "And it is a sight worth seeing, I assure you."

That makes Noctis smile too, a flicker of a smile that slots in between two little inhalations, and then his eyes close and stay closed. This is a performance, Ignis thinks, though one Noctis is enjoying, wet glides of his hand and heaving chest and balls that tighten even further--

"Guys?"

Noctis's hand stops, and his eyes open, and his face is _horrified_.

"Is, uh, is Noct in there with you?"

Ignis clears his throat. "No. Perhaps he went to find Gladio?"

"Oh." A pause. "Okay. Never mind."

It's possible to hear Prompto's footsteps go away, and then the sound of a door opening, and then a few moments later the creak of a bed as a body sinks onto it. All audible, without needing to strain too much. Ignis could have sworn these walls were thicker.

"Noct--" he says, under his breath. "We shouldn't--"

Noctis shakes his head, and then shifts, slides his feet out from under him, and sits on the edge of the bed, so close to Ignis that their knees almost touch. "I was nearly there," he says quietly, a laugh behind it. "Wanna finish me off?"

Ignis forces himself to lean back, away. "Better you not finish at all," he murmurs. "You weren't exactly quiet."

"I can be."

That statement practically requires a raised eyebrow.

"I _can_ ," and Noctis palms himself again. "You just watch, old man."

Noctis proves himself as good as his word, his knee occasionally knocking into Ignis as he does so, silent gasps and airless pants as his hand moves firmly on himself. It's _incredible;_ Ignis finds himself watching Noctis's face nearly as much as Noctis's hand, the way pleasure contorts him, the way he seems to be pleading for release.

Ignis's own hand, traitor that it is, cupping at his own cock through his trousers. He forces it to stay still, pressure rather than friction.

Noctis comes, his whole torso shuddering with the force of it. It sprays messily, likely because Noctis's hand is moving very fast as he comes, and Noctis's half-swallowed grunt of release is not _that_ quiet. Still, if you weren't listening for it, it's unlikely you'd identify it through a wall.

There is come flecked on Ignis's knee.

Noctis slumps back onto one elbow, his other hand still curled around himself, and gives Ignis a look that can best be described as _challenging_.

Ignis coughs, clears his throat. "Adequately quiet," he allows.

"Your turn," says Noctis, and he -- oh, dreadful boy -- wipes his hand on the bed, before he grabs at the top sheet and starts to wipe at himself. "Give me something to think about, until next time."

"You do realise I have to _sleep_ in that bed, tonight?"

"Yeah?" Noctis grins at him, unrepentant.

"Yes, and I'd be grateful if--"

Noctis slips off the bed, leans in, kisses Ignis to cut him off. Ignis permits it, lets Noctis slide still-sticky fingers into his hair, allows himself to caress down Noctis's side, down his hip, onto his thigh. Uncharted territory.

"Ignis," Noctis breathes, into Ignis's hair, and then one hand is fumbling determinedly at Ignis's belt. "C'mon, please."

Ignis is not thinking with his brain, not any more, and so, mouth occupied with kissing, he lets Noctis unzip him, lets Noctis slide a hand inside. It's like a jolt of electricity goes through him at the contact, and he makes a _noise_ , wanton, into Noctis's mouth. He feels Noctis grin, and then Noctis drops to his knees, there on the floor between Ignis's thighs.

"Don't stop me," he murmurs, and tugs at Ignis's opened trousers. "Please. Please, Ignis, just let me--"

Oh, god. Ignis can't allow this to happen, whatever Noctis is planning. "Noct, no--" he whispers.

Noctis stops, and drops his hands back to his lap. Immediate cessation, fast enough to make Ignis wish he hadn't said no. Noctis's eyes are pleading.

"I'll -- I'll do it," Ignis says. An offering, not what either of them wants, but enough. He gestures to the bed, and Noctis nods, and goes to sit obediently, a handspan out of reach.

Ignis has to shimmy awkwardly to get out of his trousers and his underwear, like this. It's not sexy. Even so, when he looks over, Noctis's expression is hungry, expectant. Ignis sits, thighs spread, and touches himself.

It's hardly an activity he's never performed before, but performing under scrutiny is very different. He's acutely aware of Noctis's eyes on him, of Noctis watching how Ignis curls one hand beneath his balls, watching Ignis slide his thumb over his own slit.

"I wish I was touching you," Noctis murmurs, and pulls one knee up, so he can rest his chin on it. "Is this how you like it?"

Ignis nods, aware that if he allows himself to voice a response then he'll voice _all_ his responses.

Noctis lets out a long sigh, and and tips his head to one side, and _watches_.

With things as they are, it doesn't take very long for Ignis's strokes -- no matter how slow he goes, to prolong it, to make this a show the way Noctis did -- to lead up to that crest in his pleasure, and then he's having to shove his hand over his mouth to muffle himself, and when he opens his eyes Noctis is just _gazing_ at him, such an open expression of longing on his face.

Guilt spikes through him, as the endorphins fade. Oh no. No. He's a fool.

"Can I kiss you now?" Noctis asks, and before he gets an answer is there, cupping Ignis's face, pressing a soft kiss to his mouth.

Ignis pulls away, manages to grab the edge of the sheet. He wipes at himself, fighting down his shame. He's the adult here. He's supposed to be responsible, and what he and Noctis have is _supposed_ to be over long since. He's not an animal; why, then, is it so easy for desire to reduce him to his basest urges?

" _Ignis_ ," Noctis says, and kisses him again. "Can I stay here, tonight?"

Ignis yearns to agree. He can't. It will require explanations if he does. Ignis shakes his head, aiming for firmness. "You'll have Prompto think he's mortally offended you."

"Yeah? Big deal."

Ignis pulls the sticky sheet across his lap. "It's not like you to be so callous."

"--fine." Noctis steps back. "Funny how my boyfriend would rather I share a room with a man that tried to kiss me than share a room with him."

Boyfriend. That stings, and clearly the impact shows on Ignis's face.

"...sorry," Noctis mutters, and then he steps forward again, and kneels, and then they're hugging, Noctis's face buried in Ignis's upper arm. "I just wish things were how they used to be."

Ignis presses a kiss to the top of Noctis's head. "Yes."

He recalls their last evening together, in Insomnia. Lazy kisses, before and after eating, then a movie on Noctis's TV. Both of them lying on the sofa, Noctis between Ignis's thighs, watching and talking. A gentle buzz of _arousal_ , nothing that needed to be acted on. Laughter, at the movie, and then at each other. An evening just being together.

Ignis had thought, that night, to tell Noctis he loved him. He'd refrained, worried it would sound like _pressure_.

Perhaps it's just as well he held back.

He gathers himself. "Stay here. I'll go tend to Prompto. Tell him you're not angry, but--"

"No, no." Noctis disengages himself, stands up. "You don't have to clean _all_ up my messes."

Ignis takes Noctis's hand, threads their fingers together. "Gladio can room with Prompto. Try not to make it sound like a direct consequence of what happened, if you can."

The dawning happiness that provokes is worth the little shards of guilt that lodged in Ignis's heart for saying it. "I… thank you. I'll sleep in this bed, we don't have to share, I--"

"Just… shhh. Go. Smooth it over. Be gentle."

Noctis gets dressed, only a little more slowly than he undressed, and slips out into the corridor. Gladio hasn't unpacked; merely slung his bag onto his bed. Ignis pulls his clothes on, frowning at the stains on his knee -- warm water, a little soap, he'll have to try and remember before he sleeps -- and writes a note for the door.

_Roommate switch. You're with Prompto. Long story._

Ignis has never been sure if Gladio knew what was going on, back in Insomnia. If he is, he's always turned a blind eye, and so he'll likely never ask for an explanation of this note. If he doesn't know, he'll assume there's been a squabble, or news he'll get filled on if needs be. He'll wait to be told, and if he isn't, he'll assume it's none of his business. It's that simple for him. Sometimes, Gladio is exactly the kind of companion Ignis feels grateful for.

Ignis tacks the note to the door, at eye-height for Gladio, and then waits.

Noctis comes back a few minutes later, rucksack under his arm. He looks… sad, if anything. Oh dear. Ignis pushes past him to set Gladio's bag in the other room.

Prompto's sitting in the chair, by the window, staring out.

"Alright there?"

Prompto startles, and looks over. "Huh? Yeah. Um."

"Noctis told me," Ignis says, to forestall Prompto's inevitable stuttering confession. "I hope you're alright."

"Yeah." Prompto lifts a hand, fidgets at the hair behind his ear. "I, uh. Does he hate me?"

"Hardly."

"It was dumb. I don't even…" and Prompto cuts himself off. "No. I did. But I don't, usually. It's just, it's _Noct_ , you know? And he's got Luna, and, well, sometimes it's like he's not even _grateful_."

Ignis nods, and places Gladio's bag on the bed. He considers telling Prompto that, no, Noctis isn't grateful. Noctis had other plans. He didn't want an arranged marriage, isn't _glad_ one has been arranged so he gets a wife. Noctis was quite capable of finding himself love.

He refrains.

"I'm sure it'll look better after a night's sleep," he says, instead, and backs out of the door as he closes it. "Goodnight, Prompto."

"Yeah."

Back in his room -- their room -- Noctis has dimmed the lamps, is halfway through undressing. He looks up, when Ignis re-enters, and smiles as Ignis locks the door. He raises an eyebrow, lets his hands slide to his buckle, waits.

Ignis nods, all resistance gone out of him. He's angry, he realises, at what Prompto said, angry at everything that means he's not _supposed_ to love Noctis, angry that he has to give up Noctis to a woman Noctis doesn't want that way. Well. He doesn't have to give him up yet.

They wind up in what had been Gladio's bed, cleaner, unmussed until they tumble into it.

New boundaries to draw. New territory to chart. New slippery slopes to descend.

Ignis falls.


End file.
